Wendy Wants to Follow

Wendy Wants to Follow

After the Allied Forces' Anti-Magic Device was destroyed, the Imperial Seventh Air Force, no longer under threat, launched a ferocious offensive under the orders of commanders at every level. With an attack that swept through the enemy like rotten wood, they completely repelled the Allied Forces' three legions within two hours and seized control of the Walden Region in one fell swoop. After assigning the attached army units to conduct postwar cleanup and inventory work in the occupied territory, the victorious Seventh Air Force returned to camp and held a long-overdue celebratory banquet that very night.

When John opened his eyes in the tent again, it was already noon the next day.

The tent he was in was littered with Seventh Air Force commanders of every rank, sprawled out in all directions.

The air was thick with the stench of alcohol and sweaty feet. It was enough to make one's head spin.

It seemed that the war that had been deadlocked for a month had finally been resolved, giving these bastards an outlet for the frustration they had been bottling up.

So at last night's banquet, those officers who were usually so stern and reserved had completely let themselves go.

Even Battalion Commander Olaf, the most old-fashioned man in John's memory,

had, after drinking to his heart's content, jumped onto a table and performed one of his signature tricks for everyone: opening beer bottles with his ass.

And with the sheer power of his buttocks, he alone had driven the entire banquet to its climax.

As the greatest contributor to this victory, John had not only received praise from officers at every level, but had also been the one forced to drink the most.

After watching his superior perform that signature stunt, he had blacked out completely. He could not remember anything that happened afterward.

The massive intake of alcohol left him with a splitting headache even after waking up, and his whole body felt listless.

Especially when he thought of how his carefully devised plan to change jobs had gone completely bankrupt under the influence of that damned fate.

And how he himself had now been firmly branded as an Imperial lackey.

He became even more dispirited.

This is hell!

Looking at the half-naked men in nothing but underwear sprawled on the ground, snoring away and occasionally mumbling things like "Drink up" and "Another round," John could not help sighing inwardly.

But after a moment of silence, he still picked up his warrant officer uniform from the corner and put it on, then dragged his exhausted body outside.

The smell in the tent was truly overpowering. Compared to sitting in this shitty tent and pondering where his future path lay, he felt that getting some fresh air would sharpen his thoughts.

Tap, tap!

After leaving the tent, John wandered aimlessly through the stronghold.

Perhaps because many Allied Forces troops remained in the Walden Region and Mage Soldiers were needed to help suppress them, there were not many people in the stronghold. It felt rather empty.

John walked for quite a while and encountered only a few unfamiliar soldiers who respectfully greeted him.

Retirement failed, and changing jobs failed too.

What exactly am I supposed to do next?

Damn it, when I transmigrated here, did the Goddess of Misfortune happen to see me? Otherwise, why would I be unlucky to this fucking extent?

But although this world had magic and orcs in the game's setting, there had never been any gods.

Maybe I should set up an altar later, greet the Three Pure Ones Patriarch, and try to drive away some bad luck.

They're my own ancestors, after all. They wouldn't screw me over like foreign gods, would they?

John pondered this inwardly. Just as he tried hard to recall the exact procedure for Daoist blessing rituals, gunfire by his ear pulled him back to his senses.

Curious, he walked toward the source of the gunfire. When he arrived, he discovered that he had reached the shooting range behind the stronghold.

A figure extremely familiar to him stood in the middle of the range, holding a large revolver numbered M500 in John's memory straight out in her right hand, concentrating as she aimed at a target a hundred meters away.

As though she had calculated the shooting angles in advance, she rapidly pulled the trigger several times in the next second.

Bang, bang, bang!

The six gunshots almost overlapped, and the sound of the target being hit rang out simultaneously in the next instant.

All six bullets struck the target at virtually the same time, precisely locking onto the red bullseye at its center.

There was not the slightest deviation. The shots were so precise that they looked like the work of a high-precision machine rather than a human being.

It was breathtaking!

Clap, clap, clap!

John could not help applauding. His sudden clapping made the figure, who had been intently examining her results, freeze in surprise. She turned around in confusion, and upon seeing that it was John, an excited smile immediately appeared on her face.

"Captain? You're awake!"

"Not bad shooting, Wendy. No wonder Battalion Commander Olaf appointed you deputy captain. Though compared to me, you're still far behind." Of course, John was talking complete bullshit.

When he had created his current game character, he had received perfect marks in shooting as part of the character's backstory.

But that was limited to the character John Maslow. John himself had merely been an elite corporate slave living in a peaceful era. Forget shooting—he had only ever seen firearms on television. How could he possibly compare to Wendy, a five-year veteran?

Of course, that did not stop him from bragging in front of his subordinate.

After all, he was the officer. Whatever he said was right.

"Hehe, thank you for the praise, Captain! Then I'll work even harder and strive to surpass you as soon as possible!"

Rather than getting angry, Wendy looked at her captain with an expression of worship.

After the missions of the past two days, she had developed unconditional trust in her wise and mighty Captain John.

Forget John saying his shooting was better than hers—even if he claimed he could perform Battalion Commander Olaf's signature trick and open beer bottles with his ass, she would absolutely believe him!

"Cough, cough. Speaking of which, Wendy, didn't 14th Squad have no mission? Why did you suddenly come here to practice shooting?"

Seeing this silly girl looking at him with such complete trust and not doubting his shooting skills at all, even John felt his old face heating up. He hurriedly changed the subject, while secretly thinking that he needed to find time to practice his shooting in the future.

Otherwise, if this idiot Wendy asked him to demonstrate top-tier marksmanship to the other members of 14th Squad one day, and he fired wide of the target, he would be humiliated beyond measure.

"No, I just have a habit of practicing every day, so I came to train a little. After all, our missions are all very important, and I want to become stronger too."

That way, I won't be like yesterday, only able to watch helplessly as you deliberately walked into danger for the mission.

Wendy said those final words only in her heart. When she thought of how she, who had always considered herself the squad's main force, had not only failed to protect her captain but could only watch as he faced thousands of enemy soldiers alone and bought 14th Squad the chance to destroy the Anti-Magic Device—

her right hand gripping the gun handle unconsciously tightened.

Even though General Dormammu had made preparations in advance and arranged for Colonel Jett to protect the captain.

Even though she knew that in a situation like yesterday's, only the exceptionally intelligent Captain John could have accomplished it alone.

Even though everyone in 14th Squad was cheering for this victory.

Wendy knew.

At the end of the day, as deputy captain and a soldier, she had still failed in her duty.

A soldier who could not protect the safety of her commander was not a qualified soldier.

What was more, Captain John was the most outstanding commander she had encountered in the five years since joining the military.

Whether it was his astonishing wisdom, his courage to never shrink from danger but instead face it head-on,

or his gentleness and consideration toward his subordinates, all of it had deeply won her over.

The Wendy of the past had grown accustomed to being blamed and dragged down by her superiors.

She had once believed that her military life would continue like that forever.

But John's appearance had been like dawn, tearing apart all the darkness of her past.

Never before had she wanted so deeply, from the bottom of her heart, to follow someone.

If it's Warrant Officer John, then he'll definitely let me see that sight, won't he?

Wendy murmured inwardly. Then, looking at her captain standing before her, picking his ear with one hand while endlessly rambling about balancing work and rest and how people who pushed themselves too hard were usually resented by their colleagues—things she could not understand at all—

she could not help smiling. Just as she was about to say something to him,

a burst of hurried footsteps interrupted their conversation. Immediately afterward, a guard's respectful voice reached their ears.

"Warrant Officer John, General Dormammu has ordered you to report to the command post immediately for a meeting."

(The End of This Chapter)